Dare To Dream
by D. Lavisher
Summary: when Harry realise that he can no more be the savior, he resigns to his new decision of being someone else instead...but for how long? HPDM. WARNING: SLASH
1. Why the Name James?

This is a story with I'm-not-sure-how-many-ppl's point of view, so I'll just label every character's POV them. I hope you'll like the start of it, and please remember to leave a review if there's nething worth noting. Namely, your precious comments, or criticizes…

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, thus changing his name into James Potter…ok, ok, I don't own any of Rowling's characters, growls —it's a shame but I like James better anyways!…XD

Harry (James)'s POV:

It was a haven for those like me. I never thought about the weight on my shoulder when I am inside this castle, in its strong hold. I can almost hear roaring voices bouncing off those walls of the main hall, where people strode about with a nameless pride that kept its legend alive. It was called Hogwarts, and it still is.

It was once a haven for those like me, until one day, when I discovered that I did not belong there. People talked with such enthusiasm about one particular Harry Potter, my former self. They wore such happy faces when I saved the day. He-who-must-not-be-named has been defeated, once again, thanks a lot to Harry Potter. And I was actually proud of myself, holding up my head and accepting applauds just to redeem the self conscious that I thought was lost under my uncle's roof.

Then came a day when Voldemort came back, to attack those who were innocent enough to fall into his traps. Those venomous, stealthy devils came pouring in to fill the castle with horror and dread. Then there was a moment when people did not bother to trust anymore, when someone dropped dead inside a stupid toilet and others claimed that the devil's claws had hit right on its target, despite Harry's attempt to try and save her.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember that long and endless tunnel that stretched on forever in front of me. It was the sole thought of a living young girl in the grasp of Voldemort which made me plummet down into the black hole without any second thoughts. _WHOOSH!_ The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity as I feel my body dropping lower into the slimy channel, my soul sucked out bit by bit as I neared the end.

I couldn't recall much of that last memory, only remembering the last moments as I dragged myself out of that hole somehow, with Ginny Weasley in my arms. Dead. As still as stone, frozen up forever. I was limping from whatever battle I handled down there, and was shivering from the cold. The moment they saw me come up, however, their eyes immediately landed on the corpse in my arms. I thought about saying sorry to them, about how I really couldn't reach out that far for her when I was under the attack of a blood thirsty serpent as strong as Voldemort in full power himself. I thought about why I couldn't exchange my life in turn of Ginny's, when there was still a whole family which consists of five caring brothers and a pair of heart-broken parents who will weep for her, whilst I have none. I thought about a lot. But the most I thought about was why, when Fred Weasley looked up from his dead sister in my lap, had he stared at me with such a solemn look I have never seen him wore before. I remembered saying sorry. He looked away. An unsettling shade settled upon his forehead and his face suddenly became really dark. I saw Ron trotting up behind his older brother to drag him away from the awful sight in my arms, which made him mouth a word I couldn't make out, what with all the restrained muscles twitching on his face, trying hard not to shout out whatever was in his mind.

I thought about going up to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, to say something, but nothing came to my mind at the moment, and I never went up to them somehow. They never came close to giving me a chance either, only sobbing their poor hearts out for the sake of a lost, wonderful daughter. A girl with the face of an angel's which was always so sweet and sunny, like a traveling sun, lavishing its warmth upon every being around her. But the warmth was there no more. There would be no more shy smiles to catch me by surprise when I least expected them. Like I said, Ginny Weasley was a wonderful girl.

The weight in my arms suddenly became too heavy to bear. I kneeled down and rested her head upon my knees, and, as a cold line of water, dyed a light crimson, came trickling down my limbs, noticed that I really have to let go.

Just as I was about to lay her onto the cold marble floor with every last thread of strength I have left, Mrs. Weasley took over my place and held her daughter instead. I must've mumbled something, for she looked up at me ever so slightly, but then quickly returned to a state of numbness as her glance landed on Ginny. I turned away then, to hide the tear sliding down my cheek. I don't know why I did that. I just felt that, I, out of all the people in this place, was the last one that should shed a tear. I was supposed to be strong.

One year later, and we were all apart by then. Harry Potter, Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, we've all moved on. Hogwarts went empty since Ginny's death. No one could guess how much of the castle was under Voldemort's control, and less would be willing to risk the narrow chances they had left. We were escorted into other academic programs, and I simply chose a different institution after seeing Ron Weasley's name under the title _Royal Auror Institution (RIA)._ He worked extra hard to get in, and now I see what kind of changes could take place when one's been through stuff that others simply didn't expect. Hermione went to another place filled with people who I believed are as bright as she was, for in the few mails that came from her in the future, she always stated how many competitors she had, no matter how hard she tried.

Which left me with what I had now.

After some years of intense training in _St. McCoy's Healers Institution, _where I learnt all the 'basic' healing spells and incantations of carious sorts, being a healer hadn't turned out as hard as it sounds. It just consists of a kind heart and a lot of patience. No more 'being the savior of the day' and "'why can't you fight you-know-who off just like you did so many other times?" stares'…No, just a plain, considerate healer.

I haven't seen my friends since then. Only through mail had I been able to keep in touch with my busy friend, Hermione, and Ron, well, that was only through others, I guess. "Yes, he's an Auror, a professional one at that, yes, he's doing real fine, how considerate of you--James," a little stammer at the name, and then a--"well I'd better get going, nice talking to you…"--so on and so forth blablabla.

As far as my life has progressed, I had never seen such ambivalent feelings mixed in such a pathetic way. Yes, I've changed my name from Harry into James, using my middle name instead of the real one. I did that since I transferred into the Healer's Institution, not wanting to bear with the name anymore. 'Harry' is an indication of the past, and I don't want any part of it at the moment. Being a healer required nothing of a famous past, but a certain quality I had right now, though I couldn't quite name it straight away. And, yes, people wonder why the name James Potter would be linked with me. All it takes before they wear that quizzical expression is a look upon my forehead. No matter how many times I declared, there'll always be some wanting of confirmation about my identity. Well, of course, after all, this is the price I had to pay for being '_the boy who lived_'_'_. So I ended up having the name Harry in all official records, but was known as James from then on.

Everybody knew, and most stammered before calling me by name, not knowing which one to call. That's when I'd point out, "it's James Potter, sir," and they would nod, and smile, and think whatever they want to in that head of theirs.

I was quite alone, and had wanted to be. I made some friends, but they would be re-titled as just plain, old colleagues if I had the chance to. Either way, no one would really bother, because, as I've stated beforehand, I was quite alone. It takes some getting use to as well, my new name. After all, it's my father's name I was using. It just feels a little strange, but I got used to it eventually.

I am now standing inside _Oxford's Centre Hospital--(Wizards' Branch in England)._ It was a dreary November day, a day when the sun refused to come out of its distant horizon, and I, out of my more idle moods. It was raining, the droplets of H2O battered ruthlessly onto the cold, hard panel of my office and sliding down like never ending string of tears. I was never so low. Lying on my desk was a pile of documents waiting to be signed, and all I can do is stare out of the window. I've got some patients to meet in the next few hours, and they'll probably be in lots of pain if I don't go. I work, with thanks to my hard work at the institution, as one of the most highly depended healers in this hospital, in the Emergency's Department.

I usually wake up at the early hours, and I mean VERY early hours of the morning to attend to patients without a limb or those nearing the doors of doomed hell. Most of the times I get to see a lot of blood. I regret for not having took psychology instead. Both ways, it is a type of healing too. In fact, I did take double majors including some point in my academic experiences, but I still ended up in the Emergency Department, seeing all the blood because not much people were up to the job--except for me.

Suddenly, a faint _beep _sounded behind me. As I turned round, the big, plain screen flashed an alarming red and had the word _EMERGENCY _slashed right into the middle of it. I automatically reached for a wand zooming my way with a little murmur of _accio wand!_ and flitted down the stairs to the emergency chamber without a sound. A lot of people had woken up already, I realized, despite my effort of not stepping too hard on the marble floor. Coincidentally, all seem to head the same direction as I was. I spotted a certain someone and called out, "Mr. Freeman," the Head of department wheeled 'round, "Yes?"

"I was just wondering, how come everyone's up so early?"

"I thought there was an emergency." Mr. Freeman gazed straight ahead and strode on without stopping. My large steps leveled with his hasty ones, and he actually managed to slow down, though a bit impatiently.

"How many healers are there going to--"

"Many." He paused. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a long list of instructions to give out before the Auror actually arrives."

"Auror?" I quickly took my hand out my white cloak's pocket.

"Yes, Auror," he snapped, "Why didn't you take a look at the screen before you came down?" and then he went without another lecture, for there wasn't time for that.

The siren neared as our patient arrived by the fastest model of our private free-ambulances, and I heard some officers coming in from the side door.

"Quick, c'mon now there's no time to spare--"

Lights on, patient unloaded, footsteps rushing in-out, alarm silenced for everyone's sake, door slams.

I ran towards the emergency chamber, and was panting heavily as I neared my destination. Something very wrong has happened, now that was my healer's side of sixth sense. I looked up to check the name of the patient--'_Ronald Weasley: Auror_'.

I would've slipped and toppled over right then and there, only the floor wasn't slippery due to our instant-evaporating-hygiene floor construction, I wasn't having a nightmare, and I wasn't just anyone, but a bloody healer.

A/N: I need a decent title…any suggestions? I know there's only one chapter to base your thoughts upon but imaginations are without boundaries so there!


	2. To Trust Myself

To:

fifespice:wow! ur the first reviewer! i'm sooo happy to know that someone actually bothered to stop by and take a look at the story! neways, u'll see how Harry managed to deal with Ron in this chappy i hope u'll like it!

Asiza Valentine:good suggestion there, though i haven't considered it your way yet. Thx for the thought, it's a beautiful title nonetheless.

Drarry fan: you've really got a thing for draco and harry by the looks of it. Don't worry. Sit back and wait.

Dairygirl: yup i always come up with strange storylines. Am glad to find that you liked it!

Disclaimer: I will say it one more time. Harry is not mine, but I can wrap James around my finger and do whatever I want with him.

_Lights on, patient unloaded, footsteps rushing in-out, alarm silenced for everyone's sake, door slams._

_I ran towards the emergency chamber, and was panting heavily as I neared my destination. Something very wrong has happened, now that was my healer's side of sixth sense. I looked up to check the name of the patient--'Ronald Weasley: Auror'._

_I would've slipped and toppled over right then and there, only the floor wasn't slippery due to our instant-evaporating-hygiene floor construction, I wasn't having a nightmare, and I wasn't just anyone, but a bloody healer._

Ron? Ronald Weasley? The time lapse which consists of the name chanted like a mantra inside my head stretched on for what seems like eternity. A flash of light blinded me--"Are you alright? Man, you look pale, James, look I know he looks a real mess but--" A real mess? Great, the first chance I ever get to have a nice chat to my long-lost-contact friend would also be, presumably, the last. I flicked my wand to the ready, mumbled something to the American beside me and pushed past the door towards the emergency chamber, expecting a horrible sight which includes 'a mess'.

Now, what I previously stated as 'a mess' was an understatement. The man who lay in front of me had an odd way of lying down. He couldn't be seated properly due to his jutted back, maybe a spell from a Deatheater or whatever else an Auror's job is concerned, but it sure does leave a sight. A look at his shin also left me pondering what in the world he has managed to get himself into. There was a perfect, straight wound running from the top of his left shin all the way down to his heels, scraping off most of the flesh on the exterior as it marked its path. Even as an experienced healer, I must admit that I was shocked. A fleeting sense came to me as an irresistible urge to kill whoever had done this. Not to mention all the other bits and bobs peeled off of his body, I instantly called for assistance on maintaining his vital issues such as breathing and a basic but thorough cleanse of his skin to prevent infection. I, on the other hand, went about making sure which spells I could use to prevent extra tissues from growing rapidly before his backbones are adjusted into his normal state.

However convenient all the spells I've learnt may seem, things still needs balancing. There are two spells which I could think of that would work wonders in this situation: one of which is painless, and the other one otherwise. The latter one, however, enables a much quicker healing period. I am a healer and know the concept of _time is gold,_ so I chose the latter one.

My wand hovered around where my patient's spine should be, and, as I cast the spell, I heard a heart-wrenching gasp from my Auror-friend. With another quick motion, I alleviated the sting by the realignment of his bones with a pain-relieving spell. It doesn't kill the twinge, but it soothed my patient instantly. Ron's eyes fluttered as the surge of comfort ran through his now straight back.

"Shut your eyes." I readjusted the luminosity of the room into a more relaxing shade of dim, cozy yellow. "Feel the currents join?" I turned and pulled a stool from behind. I saw him shiver as he nodded slightly, and sat down beside him. His eyes suddenly opened up with a dazed look in his eyes. He tried to fix his focus, his pupils getting larger to acclimate to the dim surroundings. I pulled in a bit closer.

"Relax," I said.

He sighed and puffed out his chest, the after effect of the bone- realignment charm. He has grown a lot taller since we parted, but he never changed in my mind. He's still the same, old Ron.

"Harry?" It was quite unexpected, his calling my name.

"What?" I tend to correct people when they don't call me by _James_, but somehow decided otherwise at this moment. It won't change much anyways.

"Oh my god, it _is _you," he muttered.

"Why, does this healer's cloak thing make me look too old or what?" I tucked my hands back into my cloak again, along with the wand. I don't want to feel like a healer in front of Ron.

"No, it's just that…it's so long since we've last seen each other..."

"Well, at long last, now we did." I smiled a little, maybe slightly awkward, I couldn't tell. There was a humming silence when I finished. I checked him head to toe again, catching his injured limb once again.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" I took out my wand again and told him to shut his eyes, "Don't move," and I dipped one of my most prided incantations, out of my own creation, into his left leg. It was one of those things that kept me on top of other healers, that I could be able to make some imaginations come true.

Ron shivered a little, but I kept his left leg still by a firm hand.

"Ouch! Be a little gentler, mate!" he screeched. Something in the last word made me grin. He still sound like an eleven-year old sometimes.

"What the hell did you get into, huh?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he said with a shrug.

"Honestly," I sat down again, "Don't they tell you his proper name in the RIA? You're an _Auror_, for heaven's sake."

"Whatever, I just…" he winced as little electric shocks went tumbling through his torso, warming up his body as I expected, though it may sometimes be a little _too_ warm. Just something to help my patients from getting too cold and keeping comfy with. He sighed and continued, "I was sent to the front line—_the very front line_…my commander pushed me on."

"Commander? Commander who?" I admit that it was more than mere curiosity which made me ask. I mean, I know it's an Auror's job to come face to face with the dark forces, and I respect every one of their members for that, but pushing your man right into Voldemort's hands just isn't a responsible choice. Unless they have a brilliant tactic, otherwise I'd—

"Commander Malfoy." My friend replied, to my horror, at ease.

I simply stared at him, too dumbstruck to even reply with a little indifferent _oh, really, how interesting. _I seriously consider him as someone who suffers more mentally other than just physically.

"Malfoy," I swallowed, "Malfoy--Who?"

"Malfoy." Ron gave me one of those ridiculous looks of his. "Dude—yes, _Draco _Malfoy—who else could it be?"

Right, even though it was just two years, that blond leader of the insufferable three is still a nightmare to be reminded of. "_Malfoy?_" my volume rocketed—"the Death Eater's son? How could he ever have become commander of a fleet of the top Aurors?"

"Chill, Harry--"

"Chill? Ron, out of all people, and _you're _the one who's telling me to _chill_?" I stood up, the grin from my face fading away instantly. By now, Ron was starting to fidget, I'm afraid, not so uneasily. I took several deep breaths and paced around the room before I turned back to him.

"How can you be so calm about this? You know why you became an Auror and that's because--"

Ron stopped fidgeting at my words. "I know why I became an Auror, thank you." This is the first time that I've ever brought the issue out with someone else after Ginny Weasley's death. I regretted the instant I said those words--I didn't know the effect of them, for I have never shared them before. "I'm sorry, Ron."

Before I knew it, there was a great, big lump that threatened to choke me, starting somewhere around my throat. I couldn't bear to look at Ron, and all the memories came flooding back. Try as I may, the comforting words in the past eight years that told me it was not my fault that someone died because of Voldemort wasn't working at all. It was always with me, the burden that I couldn't let go.

I turned away from him and said something in what I hoped was a calm voice. "Look, I really don't know why this conversation turned out to be like this. I won't bring it up again." I swallowed. "Just in case you haven't figured, I became a healer so I can help those in need…"

"What, just because you need an escapee for the past?" Ron retorted, voice raising and sitting up. "Harry," He started again as I froze, my back still facing him, "Its James," I corrected numbly.

"Whatever," he sighed and straightened up. "Listen, I want you to turn around and face me," he instructed. It surprised me to discover that, at the end of the day, he was the one who had the ability to control his emotions while I can't, no matter how hard I tried. His voice had become an octave lower as a result of the past several years, and there was something in his tone that made the command irresistible. I turned around, though I didn't expecting anything I haven't heard before.

"James then," he started, "James. It wasn't your fault." I knew it. Seriously, is that all he had to say? I looked him in the eye, waiting. Then he suddenly exploded.

"Goddammit, it's not your bloody FAULT! Do you really need somebody to SCREAM at you to take that in? Just because you've heard it so many times doesn't mean it's not true! On the contrary, I'm afraid, it is so well bloody true, 'cause you've already done your best to save Ginny and we all know it!"

"I understand you now, Ron, but how exactly can you feel what I felt? She was in my own hands when I brought her out of the chamber of secrets."

"I don't. Harry, I didn't know how you felt. All I'm trying to express is how _I _felt, that _I _think you were brave, Harry, and will always be so in those who trust you, now that's me, all my family, Hermione…and Ginny."

I felt my heart stop beating. Nobody's words have ever had this kind of effect on me. There goes the lump in my throat again, only this time, I am _really_ choked.

Ron looked at me with a sincere look in his eyes. "It's _you_ who you don't trust, Harry. You ever wondered why you changed your name into James?" The rhetorical question hung there along with the hum of the silence.

"Good…good point there," I stuttered, half choking and half trying to swallow the lump, "I'll try." The lump was still there. My vision became a little blur and I doubted it was due to any unreasonable fogginess coming onto my glasses. A tear slithered down and I wiped it away with my finger. The dampness was still there. I hoped that it was going to be both the first _and _last tear that's going to fall, because I'm really not used to this. Last time I cried was really long ago. Unfortunately, it isn't.

"Ex—Excuse—" I cleared my throat. "—me."

"Sure," he lay back down. The pain seemed to settle back into him, and I heard him hiss as I slowly went out of the door and into the restroom.

I checked myself in the mirror until I made sure that there are not going to be any more tears to shed. Things came back into control after a while and I eventually made my way back.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, mate. Long as you know what I want you to know and what you're doing." He paused. "Do you like this job?—Being a healer, I mean."

"It offers a stable income." I said, but I know that's not what he meant to hear me say. I sighed. "I want to help people, those who suffered, to make them better."

"What about yourself? Do you feel better?" He looked at me, his eyes radiating warmth of a friendship which I thought I've lost contact with ever since the transfer occurred.

I nodded, "it just takes time, I guess."

"So are you going to be a healer for the rest of your life?"

I've thought about this before. "It depends..."

"On what?"

"Donno."

He shifted and tried to sit up. Apparently, his spine was back to normal, but still suffers from a temporary malfunction. It couldn't be moved too much. I motioned for him to lie down.

"Why don't you try out for an Auror? You'll be a fast learner and everything. The talent."

"I'll think about it," I smiled, like a parent smiling to his kid in reply to a childish offer. The offer was a childish one. Being an Auror takes a lot of serious training. But nevertheless, it was a nice of him to suggest so.

"Oh no, I know what you're thinking," his eyebrows raised in a way which reminded me a lot of him as a little boy in his second year.

"Oh, really, what?"

"You're thinking about our Commander_ Malfoy _and how to deal with his existence."

"Not exactly, but nevertheless, it _is_ a serious issue." I grinned.

"You probably won't believe this, but our commander is really against the dark forces. He vowed on his life that he would wipe them out one day."

"Really. By sending you to the front." I raised a questioning eyebrow at this.

"Nononono, it was an accident. I was about to hex this Death-Eater when Malfoy realized something that was wrong, I donno, probably with his sixth sense or something, but he pushed me out of the way before the Death-Eater turned sideways to reveal his master on the back of his head."

"So Voldemort decided to chose another Death-Eater as something to stick onto?"

"Sorta, yeah. So then he tried to prevent me from coming into contact with the Death-Eater, only he didn't notice that now Voldy is actually _facing _me square on." Ron shut his eyes to call back the vivid image at the back of his head.

"But he couldn't really do you any harm, could he? Only the Death-Eater could."

"Exactly. That Death-Eater was a really tough one. He hexed me immediately and burnt all my flesh down there," he was referring to his limb, "and I hexed him back but it was all a mess so I couldn't really tell what happened. Just a hell of a chaos, it was."

"So do you like _your _job?"

"Oh, of course. A lot of excitement going on," he grinned as if enjoying the memories of those battles.

"A true Gryffindor," I pronounced. "You know, about that thing with trusting myself?—I'll try, really." I don't exactly know how it came to be so, but at that moment, as if Ron's pride had somehow transferred to me miraculously, I felt something reborn within me.

"Glad you've survived, huh?"

"Glad I got sent here otherwise I couldn't get to see you again," he replied.

"So, seems like Malfoy's a good commander?" This would need a lot of getting used to, this ridiculous aspect.

"Not exactly. He could be a real pain in the ass sometimes," Ron snickered.

"And?"

Ron tsked. "Don't ask, next time imma bring you over for Auror's interview. Quit your job then. You'll meet him soon enough."

I was pointing out how ridiculous this plan seems when a staff trod into the room.

"Mr. Potter," he panted, "A Mr. Malfoy—who was—who came here earlier—would like to see Mr. Weasley."

I wheeled around with my stool. "Mr. Malfoy? Commander Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"Just outside."

"Mr. Weasley couldn't stand up straight yet, but we can arrange the talk soon enough." I am now arranging for a queer meeting. The truth is, I don't know what I might do when I actually _see_ Malfoy. This interview would include me anyway.

Ron, at this point, sneered at me and mouthed, '_see?'_ as I turned to get some papers.

"These are Mr. Weasley's records. File them in, it will come in handy." I instructed as I handed them over. "Mr. Malfoy would have to wait. I still need to get something done with my patient over here."

"For how long?"

"Just a moment." I said. "Tell him to knock beforehand, I'd like to know when he's in."

A/N: Draco!DracoDracoDraco's gonna come in the next chappy! Ooooh i'm so excited! Any reviews for me?


	3. So Be It

Disclaimer: To those of you who thinks I need a disclaimer, please go to chapter one.

* * *

"_These are Mr. Weasley's records. File them in, it will come in handy."__I instructed as I handed them over. "Mr. Malfoy would have to wait. I still need to get something done with my patient over here."_

"_For how long?"_

"_Just a moment," I said. "Tell him to knock beforehand; I'd like to know when he's in."_

I spent most of the afternoon with some other patients, whom I have no urgent concern for. The usual procedures were carried out with less enthusiasm than usual, and I find myself rather distracted to answer their questions.

"Is it possible for you to…"

"No. I'm really sorry, Mrs. Sims, but I'm afraid that this kind of healing is illegal in the system—and you know it." I flicked through my papers in my hands, picking up various names and symptoms that are waiting to be dealt with. The lady who sat opposite me stared at me blankly; and only started when I told her that it is time for my next appointment. I gave her some words of encouragement on her way out, but my voice was somewhere too distant for even my own ears to hear. Mrs. Sims nodded in understanding before she left with a "thank you for everything…Mr. Potter."

I was stunned by her gratefulness for a long time. It did not occur to me that I was someone worth praising in this particular case, when all I could do is watch her child suffer the painful symptom of a certain mental issue, due to the fact that the quickest solution to all this experience is of illegal means. I knew the incantation right from the back of my head, where it would dwell for another decade if the Department of Incantations'-Development denied the case. The argument has been going on for ages; whether the spell from an ancient tome found in the grave of a certain perished Chinese priest could be used as an official healing spell. Some argued the case as politically unsuitable as China have not yet permitted its ancient magic to spread west-ward before they have uncovered the functions of the spell themselves. I've already tried writing a letter to persuade them, stating my full personal analysis of the incantation. If one had _already_ uncovered what there's left to be investigated, then I see no point in concealing the fact and waiting for someone else to point out the fact: that this could be done without unreasonable concerns. I've done some experimenting and figured that it could be of major use for a lot of the unsolved cases in my field--including the one just now.

But there wasn't a thing that I could do about it. This system is seriously twisted sometimes. _Maybe I should be a politician and figure out a way to this someday._

The evening went by with my mind fully tuned on the guest who is expected to arrive at seven. It was during my break, but it's the only time that I'm free as well. We were waiting in Ron's chamber, when a knocking sounded. It was hard and resolved, and was reaching an alarmingly high frequency before I managed to heave myself up from the stool, stride to the door, and open it with a nasty force.

I was just about to say to our _guest_ about something concerning manners, when suddenly the door was shoved forwards by an inhuman force, and a tall and blonde creature strode in.

"Pray tell, Weasley--the whole encounter of your stupidity against Voldemort's insanity," Our guest's cloak swept over the floor as he neared Ron's bed, the gale of his apparent temper rising to meet us at a threatening level, the acidity of his words spreading out like icy winds roaming through the Antarctic lands.

I closed the door with a grunt of disapproval and charged annoyingly back to my stool. Ron was looking up and murmuring something. I looked up from my place just beside them two and eyed the intruder. Now that his appearance is made clear by the ring of light above, Malfoy's whole complexion seemed to make much more sense. It was just one glimpse that I took earlier by the entrance, and I needed a much closer look to get an idea of what this insufferable git has turned into. I was disappointed.

He was at least half a head taller than me and his features have developed into those of a matured vampire. His eyes flickered under the dim light while he waited for the answer to his question, as though constantly plotting on a conspiracy. I did not find it appealing to stare at people when they're fuming--but this glance took a little longer than I expected.

His complexion was as pale as before, and his glare still bear their family traits obviously--haughty, in charge, daring others to speak up. I narrowed my eyes, the image of his arrogant face imprinted somewhere at the back of my head. He had changed little during the years, but there's something altogether different about him. The most disturbing new aspect, in fact, was the way his accusing look shot towards Ron. It held something equivalent to the Vitaserum spell in its glare.

Too bad it didn't work.

"It was one of those times when stupidity outwits insanity, I'm afraid," Ron answered easily. It was a strange thing, to watch the conversation unfold in such a way that could never be back then, when we were in our second year. Everything seems so different. Back then, Draco Malfoy was never the one in charge of my best friend. Also, back then, Ron wouldn't have answered in such a cool and collected tone.

I checked to see if there were any other expressions hidden under the pale visage of the wicked vampire which I remembered Malfoy as. There were none. Still, I couldn't figure how Ron could answer with such ease under a menacing glower as such.

Malfoy, unsatisfied at that answer, was about to throw back something at Ron when he realized my presence—my unnecessary presence, amidst the private conversation between an Auror and its commander, who were discussing a life and death matter, or so it seems—for the first time since entering this room. He stared at me with a foreign look, as if he knew me but couldn't be bothered to admit it for some reason or another. He recognized me—that's for sure; it's unmistakable for even the thickest, not to mention the lightning-shaped scar upon my forehead.

"It's rather foolish of you to eavesdrop right in front of us, don't you agree?" Malfoy's gaze landed on my face, and my matching glare met his just in time to catch the last blazing trail of fury, replaced by non other than disdain—a look that I've known only too well. His eyes flickered once more.

"I am, of course, in charge of your man." I swallowed, "And therefore own the right to participate in any activity that my patient wishes me to, considering that he needs full-time guard from whatever after effects of the injury that he may be prone to."

"_My man_ told you to participate in this conversation?" Malfoy eyed my patient for quite a while, probably implying some sort of mutual understanding of how to deal with Ron after I leave, which only made me more wary of his presence.

"Look, if you have anything against me, too bad; whether Ron asked me to stay or not is not the issue at all--I just wanted to make sure my patient gets the peace he needs while he is recovering." I stood up and pointed towards the door, "And if you cannot deal with it, tough, I will need to ask you to leave, commander or not."

Shifting an eyebrow, Malfoy's expression hardened immediately. "This is a serious topic that _we—_me and Ronald—are having a little discussion on," he hissed. "And if you have any further questions, please feel free to check out RIA about laws concerning _privacy_ in between the commander and his Auror members."

The silence that followed was exasperating. If a modest and kind-hearted person were to commit murder, this may just be it. I nearly took out my wand, only to remember that these had been curse-proofed by the safety departments before my receiving them. _Damn_ those safety departments! Who the hell does this bastard think he is? I made a quick eye-contact with Ron, to see what he makes of this.

Ron reacted swiftly.

"Honestly, Commander, is it really important that you come all the way from the institution to here, after the battle, with your scars and wounds still smeared with fresh blood—_just to comment on my stupidity?_"

Malfoy glared at Ron, "Of course, that was the major issue" he replied with a sarcastic, we-share-a-mutual-understanding tone.

"Well, there—you're done with it, so why all the fuss about Ha—James?" Ron paused for a bit, trying to get used to calling me by the new name.

"_James?_" Malfoy echoed.

I waited for the question—"_so, why's it you changed your name?_"

But it didn't come. Instead of firing the obvious question right at me, Malfoy simply let the ring of his last word hang there, the echo of his voice droning out all the other buzzes that used to disturb me.

After a disconcerting minute, Ron started to murmur something, and it seemed only to be for Malfoy's ears. They started talking about something concerning the RIA.

I kept my stance the same for five minutes; watching them converse like old friends. Although Ron defended for my staying here, I really see no point. They were now talking quietly as if I didn't even exist, though I know that's not the case. Malfoy is simply ignoring me, and Ron only gave me a few eye-contacts to hint about the seriousness of their talk, that he'll be catching up with me just a while later. They went on and on about some things that I haven't heard of, and I caught some names and foreign words. They did not refer to me anymore, so I decided to go out, seeing no point in staying here anyway. Malfoy didn't seem to have the intention of disturbing my patient; they were just having proper discussion concerning their work.

_So why do I get so…?_ Damn! I can't phrase it right now. Things seem to be turned the other way round after Malfoy's arrival. I needed to have a good talk with Ron badly, only to find out that Malfoy had taken over in becoming his best pal after we went out separate ways. Time really _can_ change a lot of things sometimes—those who went against it were either blind to the truth or simply naïve.

I went back to my office and took a little nap, trying to make it up for the lost hours of leisure time from my busy work. It was not long before I fell into a heavy doze. In the quiet of my small, plain office, I felt my eyelids droop with a tiredness I have never known.

* * *

_"You are the most useless thing I have ever relied on. Unforgivable piece of filth…" someone hissed in the dark. A hooded figure with a purple robe stood by a quarry-like location, the winds billowing hard, threatening to blow the hood off the back of his head._

_"My…my lord…I _had_ to kill him before we go…I…" the figure stuttered. He seems to be talking to the cold evening air around him, though it was obvious to me that this is not the case. Voldemort…?who is he relying on right now? _

_The voice rang again; this time with a harsher and more reprimanding tone. "And did you? Hmm? You did not, Fiddle, you out of all…"_

_"Someone…someone else was in the way…" the figure is now kneeling, hands over his skull as if trying to cease a painful headache._

_"Excuses, excuses, Fiddle--not a bright move," Voldemort's hissing now became unbearable. It echoed over and over, each time amplified like a nearing drumbeat, hammering its way into my ears._

_"No…no! My lord, he's…he's one of your men, my lord, my…" his wincing sounded like nails scratching upon metal, sharp and disgusting amidst the otherwise serene night. The sun had already set, leaving a jagged patch of the evening sky an eerie crimson in a far corner just beside a jutted hill, as it tumbled its way through its arched track and was swallowed into the earth. The figure is shuddered gasped in great gulps of shallow breaths. _

_"One of my man?" The Dark Lord asked in a mocking voice, "How's that? I will never have anyone against me…and you know it, Fiddle, you should know that; out of all the dark servants, you should know that rule long before now. It seems to be a little too late to be shoving the responsibility onto others' shoulders by now…isn't it?"_

_What more of the sad cries of Fiddle could not be described, the mere pain conveyed by his howling is enough to make me sick…I fell on my knees whilst my stomach churned in disgust…_

* * *

I woke up with a start, realizing that my old fear had stolen its way back into my dreams somehow. It was a long time ago that I last dreamt about the Dark Lord. My scar had been a burden from since I was born, but, just as I thought that I'll get rid of it by becoming a humble healer, the dream that I just had had proved me wrong.

I lay stretched across my desk for a long time, gathering what minor details that was left of my dream. Voldemort is definitely hiding behind someone--who's the hooded figure? The more I thought about it, the heavier my head seems to get. Suddenly, the all but too familiar throbbing started like an erupting volcano, and all I could do is lie on the desk and wince.

The pain ceased slightly after what seems like eternity, with me silently calling out to no one in particular. As the throbbing began to relinquish, I found myself stunned by my stupidity. _I'm a healer, for Merlin's sake!_ Why couldn't I just put a pain-ceasing spell on myself just now? I shut my eyes and feel the pulse of the ebbing throb; it came too quick, this devastating pain. It was too long ago that I last had it, and I wandered what had made it come back…I should've reacted faster.

I turned around with great effort, just to check what time it was. The clock was just like those with the muggles--nothing special like the one in Weasley's. Thinking about the Weasleys made me think of Ron—which inevitably led to Malfoy.

The hands on the clock read half past ten—way into the night. I blinked a few times and yawned, trying to break away from the effect of a nightmare. A knock sounded at my door, just as I was about to get out of my chair. I sighed and got up, despite the urge to ignore it.

"Who's there?" I called from inside.

There was silence for at least ten seconds before a reply came.--"It's Draco Malfoy," I stopped dead on hearing the voice, wandering what in the world would he want in the middle of the night. Couldn't he just leave whenever he wanted? It's not like I'm the hotel concierge and everyone who's leaving needs to sign out—I sighed much louder this time, deliberately, to make my opinion audible. Slowly putting on my glasses, I pulled open the door with a greater force then intended.

"What is it?" I snapped. The figure in front of me gasped suddenly and seized back his half-outstretched hand. It seems that I've pulled open the door a little too hard. I didn't apologize, though I felt a little sympathy for the bastard who disturbed what little peace I had. I'm starting to wonder what's getting into me; I seem to be more disturbed by little things than I used to be.

To my astonishment, Malfoy didn't seem to mind my snapping. He only indicated about his parting in a few terse words and turned to go.

"Malfoy," I snapped again, and regretted somewhat. He had more tolerance than I'd thought, but testing his limits isn't exactly a bright thing to do. It's really a pain to feel both annoyance and sympathy for someone simultaneously.

He spun 'round in mid-track, eyeing me questioningly. He looked a bit weary—probably because he's done too much discussing with Ron.

"You didn't have to tell me about that; you could've just left, I'm not the concierge you know," I pointed out. This is the closest to an acceptable tone that I could manage with someone who had pissed me off thrice in a row, _per day_.

He stayed silent for at least ten seconds before he replied. "Ronald told me to-- he mentioned something about offering you a job at the RIA." He paused. "Seeing that you aren't in a calm mood to accept just about anything, I decided to take that back."

"You could've said so in the first place," I snapped, a little less-snappish compared to my previous remarks.

"No I couldn't, you brainless git," he furrowed his eyebrows and snorted impatiently, "Now it's clear that you don't want the job, then so be it;" he snapped, "it's not like I'm desperate."

I could think of nothing to say at the moment, and am rather feeling as if I've just been slapped across the face.

He turned and left without a word.


	4. Sleep

_"You could've said so in the first place," I snapped, a little less-snappish compared to my previous remarks._

_"No I couldn't, you brainless git," he furrowed his eyebrows and snorted impatiently, "Now it's clear that you don't want the job, then so be it;" he snapped, "it's not like I'm desperate."_

_I could think of nothing to say at the moment, and am rather feeling as if I've just been slapped across the face._

_He turned and left without a word. _

* * *

"It could've been a lot less complicated if you weren't so snappy," Ron concluded after hearing out my encounter with Malfoy, much to my annoyance. As if I didn't know that.

"Well, since it wasn't my intention to change the course of my career in the first place, don't think that any good manners will make a difference in that, would it?" I pointed out.

"'_Could it',_ you mean; he isn't going to make the offer again."

"I sometimes wonder, Ron," I eyed him suspiciously, "who's side are you on anyway? You make it sound like I'm the one who's desperate!"

"Both," he shrugged, "I'm trying to be non-judgmental over here," with a brief pause—"though I really think you should reconsider." He added finally, with a thoughtful expression. "He doesn't do it often you know, he must've seen something worthwhile in adding you onto his list—otherwise he wouldn't bother."

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" I raised an eyebrow.

"He isn't that bad, Ha--" Ron sighed. "Can I just call you Harry? This name-changing thing is driving me mad,"

It took me a moment to think it through, though I finally settled on the conclusion. "Harry's fine--Won't make much of a difference anyway. I mean, it would've been odd for you to keep calling me James when we both know my real name." I recalled the time when he called me by James, just a while ago. It felt alien, and I was not at all comfy with it. "Just try to avoid calling me in public."

"Seriously, why did you change your name? You never bothered to explain." Ron sat up and looked me in the eye.

"Don't think it's my duty to," I looked away, suddenly becoming tense. "—Just felt like it."

Ron had a way of letting me know that he didn't agree with me, but still accepted my way. Most people simply let the subject drop, acting as if none of this has ever been mentioned; or they'll either smile this ridiculously inscrutable smile, which is even worse. But Ron is different in that special way, which never failed to move me, deep down.

He nodded, resting his head on the fluffy pillow behind him.

I sighed. "I might think about it some time later—just not right now." We both let the subject at that, since nothing of the matter could be more settled than it is at the moment.

"Does your leg still hurt?" I checked his bones.

"They're fine. I'm just not sure when I might need to be here again," he muttered.

"Well, I'll always be here if you need me," I said, flexing his lower-limb slightly.

"Thanks--Ouch! What the hell was _that_ for?"

"Nothing…I see you still have reaction—good sign, you're recovering," I grinned.

"Is that really? I somehow get the impression that I won't be able to make it tomorrow," he continued to wince as if the pain is all over him. "Malfoy wants me back by morning; he mentioned something 'bout training--"

"WHAT!" I nearly jumped; what kind of training session an Auror is supposed to go through, I have no idea. What I _have_ figured, though, is this: No healthy Auror is going to go through Malfoy's training unscathed. "But you've just begun recovering!"

"Apparently, that doesn't seem to bother him." (His pathetic wincing has stopped by now.) "He's a set example you know—he's been aching all over while he was here and he wasn't complaining one word about it."

"Hasn't he gone to a hospital yet?" I furrowed my brows. "I heard you mentioning his wounds while you guys were talking, and I thought he'd already went to one before coming here," It's really hard to link a fuming Malfoy with a wounded figure—

"How bad was it?" Damn the sympathetic nature of us healers, the question slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop myself.

"Probably, but not before just now;" Ron didn't seem to notice my thoughts as he answered to my first question. "He's always a 'business-first' sort of person as far as I know. And as to his injuries—I'm not very sure—he never shows 'em."

This is somewhat disturbing. I've heard of people who suffered from Algolagnia, but never a mentally-healthy person who doesn't want to be treated. Of course, seeing that this is with Malfoy, there is always room enough for exceptions. "How do you know he's hurt then?"

"Hullo--I was there—he shoved me away before I fell…the Death Eater must've harmed him one way or the other. Before I knew, I was sent here."

My heart nearly skipped a beat when I heard the mentioning of Death Eaters.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" My concern grew.

"He told me not to," Ron replied with a dismissive tone, "he does it all the time, though I never knew why."

I acknowledged with a half-nod, trying to persuade myself that the variety of insanities have certainly evolved over the years, and that I was just a little behind the times. Psychology was never one of my favorite majors.

"Would you be annoyed if you couldn't go?" I changed the subject.

"Bleh, wrong question; Correction: would my_ commander_ be annoyed if I couldn't make it tomorrow, you mean."

"I doubt it; you have my permission to stay. I am the authority here in this case and I insist that you do as told." I declared that as a final and ignored all his protests about how damned he'll be if he can't make it tomorrow.

"Whatever, mate, you can't make me change my mind," I said on my way out. "Ring the bell if you need anything, alright?" I raised my voice over his continuous objections. "—I'll be in my office," I nearly yelled before closing the door behind me.

"Wait up—hey!" He finally stopped the babbling.

"What?"

"You don't have to stay here overnight," he said. The sudden change in his tone caught me quite off-guard.

"What's up?"

"Nothing—it's just that you don't have to stay for me," Ron's voice wafted across the empty room. He yawned and motioned for me to go home.

"Is that all?"

"Uh-huh," he muttered, eyes closed by now.

"Goodnight, then," I clicked the door shut as quietly as I could and went back upstairs. What I said I'd do, I'd do. Just because he told me to go home is no reason for me to break my word.

I tucked my hands back into my pockets as I walked along the empty corridor. It makes me feel lonely sometimes, and I thought more about Hermione nowadays. Where is she right now? I should've asked Ron about her whereabouts earlier; but then again, he might not know either.

Just as I pushed open the door leading to my office, though, an eerie shimmer caught my eye. Tracing its source, my absent gaze landed on the supposedly silver doorknob, had it not been for the smear of a dark crimson substance over it. I was stunned for at least half a minute before I could switch myself back to the present and get a proper look. The knob had a crispy touch to it instead of its usually smooth consistency. My first instinct that followed was to smell it out. I lifted my palm and inhaled.

--Blood.

Switching on the lights, I briefly scanned the surroundings. "_Accio wand!_" I murmured.

Nothing. No one, no movement, no misplaced objects, no sound—nothing. I wheeled around for anything I might've missed. I was either too late or mistaken_—_then I remembered.

Staring through the portico, I seemed to see Malfoy seizing back his hand in a quick movement. As the scene played over and over again in my head, it became more obvious that Malfoy was injured but was trying to cover it up for one reason or the other. Either way, it must've been a crap excuse.

I observed the smear on the doorknob once again. It looked like quite a serious wound to me, considering the amount of blood it left behind.

I quickly cleansed my hands and the stain on the knob. Shutting the door, I went to my desk, and stared into space.

Something flickered in front of me. Magic may be useful most of the time, but the electronic device from the muggle world called 'computer' is always useful when it comes to dealing with mass information. _MSN_ is also a wonderful thing. The panel hummed to life with the press of a button. Something labeled _Laura_ winked at me. I blinked my foggy eyes several times before the moving icon came into view, revealing a brunette.

Her hair bundled up into a bushy strand down one side, Laura tilted her head, shaking off drops of water and started drying her hair with a towel. She smiled.

I sat up, "Laura."

"Hey," her voice surrounded me.

"What's up? It's very late already…aren't you tired?" I checked the time—12:30.

"I'm ok, just wanted to make sure they treated you alright over there," her smile dissolved into a frown. "Not coming back tonight, I guess?"

"No, I don't think so."

She sighed. "Whatever," her expression suddenly dimmed, overcast by something unfathomable, like storm clouds over sunshine.

"Laura--" but she was gone.

I slouched in my chair, trying to recall just how many times this same scene repeated itself in the past few weeks. I just didn't get why she cares so much about it. Just because I'm a busy person doesn't mean that I don't care about her. Well, maybe I'm a workaholic; but still, one's life has got more to it than promising to be together with someone until the end of time, right?

Head buried in hands, I thought about sleeping again. The urge to go home has long since gone. Just as I was about to flick off the computer though, Ron's schedule suddenly flicked into mind.

Contacting the RIA was easier than communicating with Malfoy. All I had to do was type up a terse and formal shit, and they have got to accept it whether they like it or not. By the time they deliver it into Malfoy's hands, it'll be long past the training deadline. It is always important that we stamp the hospital's health-first-issue at the bottom of our mail, as the bottom card to those we care about.

Just as I was about to switch off the screen after having typed up the message concerning Ron's stay at the hospital, the screen flickered and something new lighted up at the bottom. I clicked to see what it was, only to find that it was sent from a completely new identity. Well, at least to my computer. It is a name, in fact, that I knew only too damn well.

Do I happen to know a certain term called Murphy's Law? Let me recall. Definition no. 1: anything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong. Point two: If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause the most damage will be the one to go wrong. Corollary: If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then.

The name Draco Malfoy would be erased from my computer once I finish the letter. Having it seen in my email account bothers me in a very unique way. We are different people, leading different lives. What his reply contains is of no—

_Potter,_

_Due to the disciplined training in our institution, I believe Ronald would take no time to recover from the relatively insignificant wounds he suffered. I expect him at 6 o'clock sharp in the morning. _

_Make it._

I snorted. This is nonsense. The deleting would have to wait a bit. I'll deal with it later on.

_Malfoy,_

_I won't allow that to happen. I'm the authority here as long as Ron is concerned and I say no. N.O. _

_What is wrong with the RIA? I don't see any good in people joining the training with you in command._

The reply came much quicker than I thought. I could almost add his email address into my 'bothersome' list in my msn account and just spit those words of annoyance as much as I like, all at once. But the thought never occurred to me twice. We can only convey our loathing for each other through concentrated forms of hate-spelt words in short mails rather than communicate through instant messaging.

_Unless you think you can do any better, I don't think you deserve to have a say in this. We need discipline._

He didn't even bother with the titling this time. And except for his extended opinion of how little I have to say in this, not much of an interpretation can be made from this relatively vague reply. I was determined to stay on my ground no matter what, so I might as well stay quiet.

No more mails. Start deleting. Sleep.

* * *

"_One last chance?" a chucking noise that sounded like tens of thousands of serpents hissing in the dark sounded maliciously in the dark. "Of course, Fiddle…take down the both of them…make it."_

* * *

I woke up again, disturbed like I have never been before. My head ached like hell, the tightness of an invisible loop squeezing the capacity of my consciousness into an infinitesimally tight knot, causing me to gasp. I wander whether I'll be able to sleep again. Looking up, I tapped, without thinking, on the dimmed LED.

The screen flicked on again. Something flashed amidst the blinding dazzle of the electronic device.

_You heard what the Dark Lord said, Potter. Check on Weasley. Now._

This time, things were clearer. There was even an order. I eyed the signature at the bottom right-hand corner that read '_Commander Malfoy'. _I thought my heart had missed a beat. Something made me clench my stomach. _How could he have known about my dream?_

* * *

My breath became ragged and my voice was hoarse in the cold and empty chamber.

"WHO'S RESPONSIBLE FOR ROOM NO. 208? WHO WAS IT?!" I yelled. None of the owners of the pairs of frightened faces have ever seen me angry before, let alone yell at someone. That impression would be no more. A small voice quivered to meet my question, a near whisper in the bunch of staff before me, "I…I am."

"SO EXPLAIN WHY RONALD WEASLEY IS GONE!" I roared, despite the eerie quiet in the room.


	5. To Be Or Not To Be

Disclaimer: Again, I should not need to express this simple concept twice--this thing is for free, reading this won't cost you a penny...it means that I don't make anything outta this. Despite my urge to say the complete opposite, my consciousness does not allow me to. "To be or not to be?" Ah...pay me, pay me!!!! PS: for the true disclaimer, please feel free to go to chapter three.

Dear Ashmmon: I'm sorry about the cliffs but I just couldn't help myslef. It's killing me too.

* * *

_My breath became ragged and my voice was hoarse in the cold and empty chamber. _

"WHO'S RESPONSIBLE FOR ROOM NO. 208? WHO WAS IT?!" I yelled. None of the owners of the pairs of frightened faces have ever seen me angry before, let alone yell at someone. That impression would be no more. A small voice quivered to meet my question, a near whisper in the bunch of staff before me, "I…I am."

"SO EXPLAIN WHY RONALD WEASLEY IS GONE!" I roared, despite the eerie quiet in the room.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not one to panic when it came to emergencies. The screen flickered until a firm press of a finger blacked it out. He stood up._ Ronald Weasley is gone from the hospital._ That was the first-hand news he'd gotten from Harry damn Potter. One of his men from the most elite troops in the RIA is missing because of the most stupid of reasons. He couldn't understand. Now of all time. He couldn't quite take it.

He needed confirmation.

"I'm waiting," Draco pushed, strumming his fingers on the table which he propped himself up against.

"Malfoy," Harry began, his irritancy rising as well as his frustration. "I apologize." _Someone is going to be so sorry for this they'd wish they'd never been born;_ he nearly bit on his tongue as he resumed, "I'll do my best to get him back. He's my friend too, so I don't see why you should be suspicious of me."

Draco snorted. "Of course, it's not like I'm the one responsible over here."

"It won't happen again," Harry declared hotly, sensing how bizarre it all sounds when it slipped out of his mouth. He wanted to slap this git in front of him, but had no reason whatsoever to support his ground if he did. Draco Malfoy simply looked at him mockingly, almost daring him to do so.

"Well, there won't _be_ a chance for it to happen again, Potter, we all can't afford it if it ever happens twice, I'm afraid. I won't put my trust in you and your hospital's services anymore, and I doubt that the rest of England would if I spat this out." Malfoy furrowed his brows and looked at Harry with a dark look. "Imagine: '_patient Ron Weasley, inhabited temporarily at the supposedly most infamous and therefore guaranteed, _secure_ hospital in England, (_well of course it's just a branch so that may have affected the qualities within, take that into account, mind you)_, kidnapped by Death Eaters—_'" he sneered, "—so on and so forth," And with an over-exaggerated sigh, he leaned forward. "Why, wouldn't that be bothering?"

"Shut it, Malfoy, this is none of the hospital's business, it's mine and mine alone." Only so much could be said when it came to serious matters concerning the hospital, Harry wasn't even sure how much of it is true.

"Oh, really, so how's that you've nearly considered beating up one of your assistances?" Draco lolled his head sideways, a questioning look spread across his face.

"Now that is none of _your_ business." Harry shot back, his raven hair standing on its end as he tried to restrain himself from hitting Malfoy.

"Again, you sound just like a three year old trying to get away from punishment."

Harry felt his knuckles tightening. What in Merlin's name does he want?

"The thing is," Draco continued as if he hadn't noticed Harry's reaction, "I've got a brilliant idea," he smiled a pretentiously affable smile, just like a zoo visitor would to the adorable animals within, "which would leave your history, concerning your future career in the healing institution, _unscathed_." The smile was so sociable that, for a moment, Harry actually thought there was a special radiance coming from it.

But it was oh so short-lived.

Malfoy's smile disappeared as quickly as it came by, replaced by the familiar smirk that Harry knew only too well.

"And what's that?" A sense of nervousness charged through him, and Harry relaxed his fists a little, a tad curious for what is to come next.

"Substitution," the blonde said in a whistling tune.

Harry's heart missed a beat. "For what?"

"Why, for Ronald Weasley," Draco replied nonchalantly, "it's called compensation, making up for a little mistake you've failed to handle with."

"You mean switching places with—?" Draco nodded, waiting.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I'M NOT GOING TO BE AN AUROR UNDER YOUR ARMY AND CALL YOU A BLOODY COMMANDER JUST BECAUSE I—"

"You don't have to," the calm reply came so unexpected that Harry almost gagged.

"WHAT DO YOU—"

"I mean in private." The commander smirked again. "Discipline is important in the institution, so you'll have to be a bit more polite in public…and call me…" He paused, letting the incredulous look on Harry's face, almost enjoying it. "…_Sir"._

Harry's mind went blank. For a moment, he could feel that throbbing ebbing from his forehead again, as if Voldemort is going to pop out from his head anytime.

"How dare you," he hissed, his temples aching as if an explosion is about to take place.

"I have my rules and you have yours," Draco said in a dark voice, "we'll see who can make it to their limits. See, if you don't cooperate, I'm afraid I'll have to spread around a bit of information…and it probably wouldn't be very wise if you let me. Get the picture?"

"It sounded rather like final," Harry pointed out, his piercing eyes now shooting daggers at the relaxed brat sitting on the table, seeming very comfy.

"That's because it is."

"What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"As I've already explained; you wouldn't want the reputation of this hospital to be wrecked just because a case you had got out of hand," Draco raised his gaze so that their eyes met. "Not to mention that Ronald Weasley was taken by a Death Eater. Or worse still—Voldemort himself."

Harry stifled a snort, "Yeah, sure—"

"Don't tell me you don't remember your dream."

Harry felt his shoulder tense, accompanied by an involuntarily shudder on the inside. He wasn't prepared to discuss about this yet, let alone hear others bring up the subject. He thought he was the only one with the problem.

"How did you know about them?"

"You're not the only one with the goddamn problem, Potter." Malfoy seized back his gaze and looked the other way. What's left of his smirk faded away into an uneasy, grim expression from what Harry could see from his askew perspective of Draco's profile.

Harry froze. Not that he was even moving, but his whole body froze. It's as if the blood in his veins had stopped flowing altogether. For a long while, he found himself speechless. He was so lost for words that all he could do is to stare at Malfoy as the other went and shut the door with a small _click_, waking up an idle Harry, temporarily, from the middle of a trance.

"What—what do you mean?" he stuttered when he finally woke up.

"Just like you've heard it. You're not the only one with the problem."

"You have them too?" Harry tried to see Draco Malfoy properly in the dim light, not knowing what to expect.

"Every person who died by Voldemort's curse," Draco said dryly, "would leave a connection in between the Dark Lord and the one he or she is trying to protect." He still didn't look up, and Harry didn't know what to say.

Fortunately, there was no need. "—Everyone who studied Aurostry should have known that by the end of their basic education."

Harry could only stare. Who was it that brought the nightmares into _Malfoy's_ life? He thought would need some champagne to celebrate this new discovery, like he would if he had known this fact earlier. But right now, coming from Malfoy, something just doesn't seem right. And all he could do, really, is to stare.

"Now it's none of your business to wander who is it that leads these stupid nightmares into my life," Malfoy snapped as he looked up, as if he could read Harry's mind.

Harry's gazed zapped right back into focus. "…I'm sorry."

"Well don't be."

Harry tried to look as normal as he could, but found it rather hard to do so without knowing what expression he was actually wearing. He tightened his jaws, setting them in a firm, pressed line, trying to keep his face muscles under control again, but to no avail.

"So…" Harry coughed slightly, "you were saying that Ron might've been captured by Voldemort?"

"Yes; any questions?" Malfoy said without looking up.

"So what're your plans?"

"There aren't any."

Harry was puzzled. "There aren't?"

"Look—" Malfoy got up, "—if he had been caught by the Death Eaters or Voldemort, we won't expect him to be alive by now."

Harry felt a burning sensation seethe inside him. In every pore of his body there seemed to be a little flame setting up, prickling his nerve, and the bloody temper that never failed to create spectacles.

"So I see you're not even trying to save your man, are you?" He said coldly.

"This isn't the time—"

"You're just trying to get a substitute, is _that_ what you're trying to say?"

"No," the reply came slowly.

Harry looked at Draco Malfoy properly now, as if he only saw him for the first time. It was a weird feeling to be looked upon like that, and Malfoy could only snap his eyes shut for a moment, letting the hatred pass through him.

But that couldn't be forever. He had to say something.

"You need to understand, there's no such thing as useless sacrifices."

"I don't have to." Harry felt his fist tightening.

There was silence for a long moment, before Draco broke it.

"…Remember the time when the chamber of secrets was opened?"

It was Harry's turn to shut his eyes, "Yes."

"I am not going to ask you how you've felt when you carried Ronald's sister up from the chamber, but it is necessary that you understand: nothing could be changed just because someone went after the dead, just to bring back a body." Malfoy took a step backward into the shadows, where the circle of light above their heads couldn't reach. He saw Harry's eyes open.

"How can you be sure?" He heard Harry's voice as he might've from thousands of miles away. It sounded incredibly determined, like a child asking the extent of the span of the universe, not preparing to give up until he got a definite answer.

Draco paused, as Harry continued to stare at him.

"The dream." He said, at last, somehow glad that he was in the shadows. Potter's pierce was too intent. He exhaled silently, as if a burden had been freed from him.

"The dream." Harry repeated. He sound unconvinced. "The dream," he said again.

Malfoy said nothing.

"You think that, with a dream you had, you were able to believe that Ron is gone." Harry said, as if discussing some usual routine work. He turned to Draco. "How can you be sure?"

"Because they always come true."

"How so?"

Malfoy sighed. "Look, the things that I've been dreaming about—they're not just about the Dark side's activities—they can be about other things as well. Last time I had a dream about the things that happened exactly twelve hours ago."

"Like Déjà vu?"

"Yes." He paused. "Like Déjà vu."

"And did you dream about Ron dying as well?"

Malfoy admitted with a slight nod. It was slight, but a nod nevertheless.

"And so do you believe that? That Ron is dead by now?" Harry asked, and, without waiting for an answer, "'Cause I've had that dream too, a while ago."

Then, in a voice so resolute that Malfoy looked up, "And I thought it was bullshit."


	6. The Firing Bit

Dear Ashmoon: sorry about the very late update (omg it's been a long time) but that's coz I've got to apply to colleges and I've got loads of exams to get through. I came back as soon as I could…please don't smack me!

* * *

"And so do you believe that? That Ron is dead by now?" Harry asked, and, without waiting for an answer, "'Cause I've had that dream too, a while ago."

Then, in a voice so resolute that Malfoy looked up, "And I thought it was bullshit."

* * *

"I've heard about the accident." Head of Emergency Department sat down opposite a man who was quiet for the past few fifteen minutes. The man stood for the whole time while he took out some papers, looked through them line by line with a precise but painstakingly slow accuracy, signed his name on the bottom of the last page, called for someone, handed over the documents whilst reminding the secretary to make sure that all of the documents are to be delivered with extreme promptness, and finally sat down.

Once or twice the man looked towards the clock on the wall, following the tick and tocks of the mechanic, supposing that his presence over here was not at all what it seems to be like. He was called in for a 'quick word'with the Head of the Department, which resulted in completely the contrary. He ruffled his messy hair, a habit he developed for passing unnecessary waiting time. He couldn't get rid of the habit. Everything was too _unnecessary_ nowadays, though he had the thought that he had no one but himself left to blame. His raven hair partially blocked his view for a moment, and then he let his shoulder loose and laid his head back for a little while.

"James," The officer caught him quite off-guard, "I need to ask you something."

The man stood up straight now, trying in a pathetic attempt to smooth his hair back, though the motive had nothing to do with politeness, but to weariness he had developed over the day. A nothing but ghastly day. He sighed.

"I supposed you could, I was free for the entire fifteen minutes." He nearly yawned, but had the decency to stifle it before it became an inevitable urge.

"Were you aware that you were just about to be promoted the other day, to the main hospital in London, as the Head of the Physics-Healing?" The officer asked uneasily, taking into account that the other was hardly attentive at all.

"No," he felt indifferent, promoted or not promoted.

"Well, fair enough then, there's no harm done if you haven't yet the slightest idea about it." the officer cleared his throat. "Though I must say it wasn't a very pleasant thing to hear, that one of our patients have been reported missing, under your supervision."

Harry could not agree more.

"Seeing that this is not just any regular case, I need you to go through your memory. I need to hear out your side of the story."

"There's not much left to say. Ron- the Auror, he just…disappeared."

"Any suggestions as to how this came to be so?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He couldn't imagine the look on the other's face if he blurted out that it was Voldemort who was behind this, and that the disappearance of the _important _patient held much more disturbing details than could be summoned by the rumors.

"…No." He was glad the messy hair did something productive for once. The look on his face must've been ridiculously stupid. If he knew something and yet held it back, that would raise suspicions, which meant more unnecessary queries--the last thing that he needs right now.

The officer raised a questioning eyebrow at this, got up from his seat and walked towards Harry. "You know something that I don't, which is OK if you decide to maintain your choice to keep it from us, but what good will it do? You know that it would mean trouble from the hospital, yes? It's not just a case; it's the first and only _bloody _case in the whole of London in this century, as far as everybody knows."

"I've not yet reported anything to the questionings raised outside yet."

"Clever. It'll be some fantastic selling point on the news if you ever do. This hospital will be ruined."

"I believe you had something more important than this to tell me," Harry hope he didn't sound impatient, because cross his heart, that was all he had ever felt since he stepped into that boring room.

"Yes, then I'll get straight to the point, James, and that is you will be forced to quit. No matter how you explain or how things turn out, there'll be no room for contemplating for the loss out reputation will have to suffer. If the patient ran out by himself, which I hope _is _the case, then our both-sided security system will have to be questioned; either way, if the patient was forced out of the hospital, then I'm afraid there'll be something else instead of questioning."

"Good." Harry's reply came out of the blue like a bullet.

"Pardon?"

"When will it take effect then? The firing bit, I mean," Harry started to take off his white robes.

* * *

Harry walked slowly through the foggy lawn which led to his apartment. His legs are aching in pain, like it had never been before. There were more than a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, half of them rotating around the dilemma of whether or not to accept Malfoy's offer. Of course it was more than an offer, but Harry would never think of it that way. He still had the choice in his hands, just like he had the keys to his cozy apartment, which seemed the most luxurious haven for him in a time like now. He raced up the slippery steps, noting on the second one up which held a little hollow in which rainwater never seemed to evaporate.

Harry breathed in and out repeatedly for at least ten times in a row. Realizing that his beliefs were the only ones left in this universe that shines hope unto the darkened land of desperation, Harry found it hard to start the plot of his plan.

Rescuing Ron. It could be so simplified, and yet at the same time, so damn difficult. He searched for the surge of energy that would always course through him when he was determined to do something.

Yes, his faith is still there, and so is his strength. But something in him tells him that this isn't enough. Harry closed his eyes. What took over was nothing like inspiration or relaxation. Instead, there was a long tunnel stretching out in front of him, and, for a long time, Harry found it difficult to breathe. It's as if he'd been trapped in a vacuum. One short breath would be echoed into eternity and never come back. _Don't even think about exhaling_.

Harry gagged, eyes opening in alarm. There was a brief moment when he simply swore that he would never close his eyes again. He touched the bolt of lightning on his sweaty forehead, now cold as if he was a statue.

He glanced over to his bed, a mess amidst all the other messes in his small flat. The space was just a little wider than his office in the hospital. He felt suffocated. Looking out of the window, he saw a big, modern poster, advertising a new perfume brand. Pedestrians walked along the sidewalk: some with a slow, sleepwalking motion, some fast-paced as if racing for some life-and-death matter. Cars zoomed across the streets, stoplights turned red just as another motorcycle managed to make it through. Harry reached over and pulled the lock free. The glass swung open with a little squeak, giving way to yet another ordinary evening.

A tide of cool air rushed into his flaring nostrils, as Harry took another deep breathe. He stared at the city below him, this time no more a virtual image. As he did so, a huge bang sounded behind him, the half-shut doors of his closet slamming against the change of pressure. Harry looked back to see a small picture frame swinging from side to side, clinging dangerously upon the wooden door, threatening to fall any second.

He didn't hesitate to dive for it.

A girl in the picture held a grin on her face when Harry turned it right side up, one side of her mouth lifting upwards to reveal the innocence that only a child could possess. Well, she is no more a child. Harry held the frame delicately in his hands, nestling it in his lap, and, as light gradually washed over it, smiled. It was a heartening smile that would have warmed up the coldest land on earth. He truly smiled for the first time that night, grinning from ear to ear like a child who had found his lost toy. Yes, she is no more a child. She is Hermione Granger, a crucial member in the trio.

Ron was in the picture too, only he was a tad bit shorter than everyone else, and now, well, he's a professional Auror. Harry sighed. What could he say? Sometimes life is a game in which you win simply by being the most thick-nerved and naïve, being the happiest and at the same time oblivious to the truth. Harry wondered if someone can really do that. He doubted it. For some years he'd learned to be alone, to forget about the faces and the laughter of his friends, but when the embers of a dying memory is relit, nothing could be merrier than to see it burn again, in reality.

He thought back at the way he interacted with Ron back at the hospital. Everything seemed alright then, so was it him alone who was making up all the emotions that people felt towards him? Something stirred within Harry. He felt sick. Was he once so significant that every drop of feeling turned into an over-magnified bubble that reflected each feeling that he _thought_ people had towards him? And he took that much time to figure it out. _That much time._ He felt a tear stinging his eyes. He blinked hard, and let it run free. He suddenly felt so filled with regret that he never made more attempts to try to rethink these things through. It was always shoving away the memories, work, and more work. He had locked his mind up for that long.

Harry held the photo delicately in his left hand and grabbed the phone with the other. Hermione must've had a telephone in her house, her apartment, her mansion. She could be anywhere after all these years. She could have been single, dating someone he didn't know, or even married. Harry felt painful not to have known who it might be. He wanted to know, he wanted to know how she was doing. _If she is still in London, _he thought, _if she is still in London._ He flipped the photo around, and there it was, her telephone number that she left him when Hermione was still 10 years old. It was even in her handwriting.

Fingers pointing at the first number in the string of random digits, he pressed it. It was followed slowly by the third, fourth and fifth. Everything seemed to hold still until the monotonous beeping turned into a click on the other end. Someone had picked up the phone.

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice.

"He-hello, umm, I'm looking for Hermione…Hermione Granger." He stuttered.

"Hold on a second," the woman turned and called for Hermione, and Harry suddenly had the urge to slam the receiver back down. But alas, Hermione came down way too quick for him to do that.

"Hello?" Hermione said to the phone. It didn't sound like her at all. Harry was desperate to find something to say. She was waiting expectantly on the other end.

"Hi, I'm...I'm Harry." He wasn't exactly sure how he sounded; it didn't seem natural at all.

There was silence on the other end for five seconds before Hermione started to speak again. And when she did, it sounded more like an explosion.

"Harry! Oh my god, Harry! Is that really you?" And without waiting for an answer, she squeaked like a little girl, "I missed you soooo much!" she panted for some breath before continuing, "Where are you?"

Harry couldn't suppress that smile on his face. His laughter rang through the connection line to the other end like a prancing deer. "I'm in my flat; in London…we're in the same city."

"Yeah, well, I came back to my old house just for the holidays, I'm going to India for the rest of the year, and I won't be here for a long time." She sighed. "Too bad we have different schedules."

"What're you doing over there?"

"What do you mean? Here, in my house or in India?"

Harry chuckled. "Care to tell me both?"

"I'm flying to India to help out with some cases which concerns environmental issues. Mostly to do with animals, children, the poor…et cetera. Oh, I study law, by the way." Harry can imagine her carrying out her work, living for her dreams. "Probably not as exciting as whatever you're doing out there," Hermione said, she sounded much more like the Hermione he knew now, though the maturity had done its deeds throughout the years. She sounded wiser though he had only heard so much of her voice.

"Me? I want to quit my job now."

"I thought you said you wanted to be a healer."

"Yeah, yeah I did, but…you'd never guess what happened yesterday. Well, the day before yesterday."

"I'm waiting," another chuckle.

So he told Hermione.

"Harry! You should've called me earlier!" she practically screamed through the phone.

"Well, now I'm calling you--"

"Now's too late! Ron is captured?! Did you say that Malfoy gave you an offer at his army? Oh my god I _have _to cancel my schedules, I'm going with you--_MOM! _" Harry heard her shouting across the room to Mrs. Granger, "_I'm not going to India anymore_! Harry, give me your telephone number, wait 'till I fetch my pen…OK, oh, and tell me your cell number as well--"

"Hermione," Harry felt dizzy, he should've thought this through before he called.

"Oh, right, I forgot, give me Malfoy's number as well; I might need to call him--"

"WHAT?!" Harry was more than appalled.

"Don't WHAT me! You know communication is important, no matter how much I hated him-_ still hates him mind you_- but I have to get to him to know all the details! What Ron was doing in their last battle for example, what faces of the dark side they saw, what they encountered--"

"Hermione, Hermione," Harry started to feel sweat gathering upon his forehead.

"Not to mention that he didn't even CARED about what happened to Ron, like you said, oh that son of a--"

"Hermione!"

Silence.

Now _that_ felt good.

"Listen up; you've got to keep cool OK? No one else can know about this-- For the sake of our hospital's reputation!"

"Harry, Trust me; I won't be so stupid as to use someone's help without de-activating their memory system beforehand."

_Oh, _"…Right."

"There," she sounded more collected, "so what're you going to do?"

"I'm going to be in Malfoy's army." He had no idea why he could, in a mere split second, come to such a decision in between a conversation on the phone.

"_WHAT_?!" Hermione imitated his previous expression.

"Hey, I'm already sacked." Harry smiled nonetheless.

* * *


End file.
